(5 minute read)
I felt like I had to go back.
A pledge is something to be honoured and it was gnawing at me. If I went, what could I possibly do? Did I have anything to add to this tragic story? I convinced myself that I did. A forensic angle, perhaps? I wasn’t sure. My research led me deeper into a mire of meticulously recorded detail and despair. Yet nothing would be resolved in my own mind if I didn’t go.
I joined the annual peace march covering the same paths and tracks the victims of the genocide travelled almost 25 years ago. The terrain. The trails. The trees. Seen with my own eyes, the eyes of the victims and the eyes of thousands of others who shared their grief in a moving act of solidarity with the living and the dead against unforgotten forces of hate.
I started in Srebrenica, a place whose name is synonymous with the genocide. It didn’t take me long to get the sense that the town was struggling with the weight of European history; a cloud that permanently hung over the town and continued to stifle the aspirations of a new generation.
There were glimmers of light: I heard laughter coming from a ruined house near a vantage point, and turning, saw a young couple in each others arms, joking and kissing.
I descended the hill and took a few more pictures for no apparent reason other than to eek-out these precious few minutes and savour the early evening glow. When I got there a voice echoed round the town square – a friend, who I’d briefly met at the local hostel, had found a spot in a third floor restaurant with a balcony and was calling down to me. I wandered up the staircase examining all the photographs on the wall as I went.
On the second floor mezzanine, I did a double take. The picture itself was unremarkable – an interior of the restaurant above. What gripped me was the face, more accurately lack of face, of one of the seated figures: a woman in thoughtful repose had been disfigured, her identity stolen by a sharp object that had scarred her into obscurity.
Back in the UK, I realised this might be a strategy I could use to start to think again about what happened in this complicated place.
I decided to take a selection of the walk images, have them printed, and start defacing the identifiable people. I did this in the same way the restaurant picture seemed to suggest – with scratches and scrapes exposing the paper fibres beneath. The tools of the pathologist seemed apt: a scalpel and long-handled scissors. I then re-photographed the prints as a forensic photographer would copy documentation for reproduction in court.
Below are a small selection. Originals taken on the Mars Mira memorial walk, July 2019.
A forensic connection could be made here (in the sense that these pictures of pictures evidence violated objects) to the long running International Criminal Tribunal for the Former Yugoslavia who indited, among others, Radko Mladic for his part in the Srebrenica Genocide.
It could highlight the ongoing forensic work being carried out by the International Commission for Missing Persons in nearby Tuzla, where pathologists are still finding and identifying human body parts from mass graves 25 years after the killings.
It could also bring to mind Radovan Karadzic, who radically changed his appearance to evade detection until his final arrest in Belgrade in 2008.
All images ©djnorwood 2019 unless stated.